In the daily intercourse with her parents, she had asked questions freely. She did now as she would have done with them. As Dr. Kitchell passed her desk, she spoke to him:
“I could not help hearing what Miss Brosius said to you about leaving the room, and wondered what she meant.”
“It is impossible for me to see all the students. Unfortunately, I do not have eyes in the back of my head.”
Elizabeth met his glance with a look of surprise.
Dr. Kitchell then spoke more plainly. “I am quite determined there shall be no cheating in my classes. My students will pass on their own merits—or not at all.”
“And Miss Brosius then—” she paused, not feeling confident enough of the situation to put her feelings into words.
“Miss Brosius is here to assist me, and to see there is no copying, no cheating done in the class.”
Now Dr. Kitchell was an excellent man, an able instructor, but he had a blunt way of expressing himself. Elizabeth’s face flushed and then grew pale. For one instant her lips quivered and her eyes filled. But she quickly controlled herself, and began putting together her papers. Arising, she was about to quit the room.
“Have you finished, Miss Hobart?”
“No, I have not.” Elizabeth spoke quietly. One could have no suspicion of the fire that lay smoldering beneath.